“Better be- SLYTHERIN!”

The silence was deafening. Harry could feel the shocked eyes of the hundreds of students on him, the sharp intake of breath from professor McGonagall at his side. He swallowed, hard around the thick lump in his throat, and opened his eyes.

He found Ron in the crowd, his freckled face and narrow nose scrunched in a mixture of confusion and disgust. A girl next to him had her mouth open in an almost comical ‘oh’. Another student whipped his head from Harry to his friend and back toward Harry again, shock clear in the way his eyebrows stretched above his hairline.

Just as quick as the silence fell, it ended, quieted all at once by the Slytherins. Harry’s heart pounded, the sound even louder in his head than the claps and cheers of ‘Potter!’ coming from the left table. McGonagall cleared her throat and, her hesitation tangible, lifted the sorting hat from his head.

Harry’s knees shook as he slid off the stool and slowly made his way over to his new house. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bench, an older boy quick to slide over to make room. He clapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and grinned, “Good to have you, Potter.”

Harry flinched before he could stop himself. “Thanks.” He smiled weakly and tried to cover his stutter with a cough, though he wasn’t sure how effective it was.

Names continued to be called (Dean Thomas, Gryffindor; Lisa Turpin, Ravenclaw) but Harry paid little attention. He had hoped for Gryffindor, like his parents had been, Hagrid had said, but Harry didn’t feel he had the courage the house seemed to be known for. So he had thought he’d be placed in Hufflepuff. He was good, wasn’t he? Kind?

Everything Hagrid had told him said that Slytherin was bad, that it was the home of every dark wizard, You-Know-Who included. Even Ron had said- oh no. Harry shot his head up just as his red-headed friend pulled the hat down. It only took a few moments before the hat announced “GRYFFINDOR!” to the hall and Harry felt his stomach drop.

There was no way Ron would want to be his friend now that Harry was in Slytherin. He watched as Ron quickly found his brothers at the table, his large smile dropping when he looked up and met Harry’s gaze.

He looked away fast, turning to laugh at something his brother said, but Harry couldn’t shake off the shame he felt.

A moment later the sorting was over and the headmaster, Harry recognized him from the moving card on the train, stood to clear his throat. “Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!” The boy next to him snorted and Harry frowned, what did that mean? Was it important? Some secret wizard-only joke that he didn’t understand? He looked down the long table for another reaction when he gasped.

In the moment it took for him to blink, the table had filled with foods of all sorts. He saw roast beef, sausages, pork chops, bacon, kidney pies, yorkshire puddings. The further he looked, the more there was.

Harry could hardly keep his mouth from watering as he watched all the students grab at the rolls and scoop potatoes onto their plates. He glanced up, neck stretching to see the other tables. The staff table and other three houses were all buried under the fountains of food, everyone devouring their servings.

“Don’t you want anything, Potter?”

Harry winced as the boy nudged his shoulder, jostling his still sore bruise. “You can have whatever you’d like, you know.” The boy continued, using his fork to point to a platter of treacle tart, smirked and lowered his voice, “They won’t know if you have only dessert either.”

Harry licked his lips; he had always wanted to try treacle tart. And maybe the boy was right, maybe his aunt and uncle wouldn’t know he had any before everyone had finished. But if they did- Harry shook his head. He couldn’t risk being caught breaking one of the most important rules on his first day.

His relatives had always made sure that he thoroughly finished all of his chores for the day before he could have anything to eat, and when he did earn something it was nothing compared to the feast before him. No, Harry decided. He would be good. This was a new start for him, an escape from the Dursleys and he wasn’t about to ruin it all so fast. Not if he could help it.

The boy gave him an odd look before turning away, muttering something too low for him to hear. Harry took in a deep breath to steady himself, hoping he hadn’t caused the boy too much trouble when he sat next to him. That was rule number one: don’t cause any problems of any sort. Harry had always seemed to have the most trouble with that one, no matter how hard he tried to be good.

Uncle Vernon thought Harry was bad at following all of the rules, though. “We’ve laid them all out for you, boy, why can’t you damn follow them?” Harry hadn’t said what he wanted to: that the rules were always changing, new ones being added all the time. No, that would’ve broken rule number two: don’t talk back, which, Harry quickly learned, truly meant don’t talk at all.

The smell of baked chicken caused Harry’s stomach to growl and he felt his face flush warm. He hadn’t eaten in days, not since the peanut butter sandwich the morning before he burned Dudley’s bacon last week. It hadn’t even been Harry’s fault! Not really, at least. Dudley was shouting about his broken r.c. car and threw the remote, startling Harry. The grease burn still stung if he turned his wrist too sharply.

Harry frowned at himself; he should have been paying more attention, maybe then he would’ve had a nice dinner the night before. Or at least another peanut butter sandwich. His stomach growled again and Harry wrapped his small arms around his middle.

“Here.” The boy swapped the plate in front of Harry with another’s and Harry watched with wide eyes as he placed the new one down, the chicken still steaming. There was a small mountain of peas and two rolls already buttered, a cup of gravy and a yorkshire pudding sliding around as it settled. “Eat it.”

Harry swallowed and looked up through his fringe. Was he really allowed to eat all of that? As if reading his mind, a girl across the table nodded with a smile, a silver badge shining on her robe. “It’s not poisoned, I promise.”

His hand shaking, Harry picked up a roll and, glancing once more to the boy for approval, took a bite. The butter melted in his mouth as he chewed the soft roll, swallowing around the too big of bite. Quickly he took a second, third, fourth bite until it was gone before anyone could tell him otherwise.

He went to start on the other roll but stopped, choosing to hide it in his pocket instead. It wouldn’t do good for him to eat it all now and be hungry in a few days, he knew. It’d be better to save it, it tasted better like that anyway, all spread out and cherishable.

Instead, he picked up his fork and scooped a small pile of potatoes into his mouth. He tried the chicken next, even going as far as to pour some of the gravy onto it. He figured if he was going to get in trouble for eating it all later, he might as well have had more than just bread and peas.

It was so good, the best he had ever had! Not thinking about his aunt’s rules of etiquette in his excitement, Harry shoveled the chicken into his mouth until he couldn’t eat anymore and then took one more bite, just to be sure. He didn’t think he’d ever been so full in his life.

He wished he still had the old toy tool box of Dudley’s he had rinsed out and used to store his stolen bits of food in, hidden under the lowest step in his cupboard. There was still more chicken on his plate and the entire pie he didn’t want to waste. But that wasn’t something he could keep in his robe like the roll.

A few more minutes passed and Harry gratefully drank from a cool glass of pumpkin juice, the girl with the shiny badge had poured and passed it to him, before the headmaster dismissed them all to their dorms for the night.

Harry looked around anxiously as everyone got to their feet, where were they going? And where was his luggage? His owl? The boy nudged him as he had before, “Stay close to Gemma.” He said before leaving the hall with the others.

Badge shining brightly as she stood, the girl spoke loud and clearly, “Alright first years, I’m Gemma Farley, one of your prefects. You’ll be following me down to the Slytherin common room.” Harry stumbled, rushing to stand and keep up as she led them all out of the hall. He heard something that sounded like his name but ignored it, keeping as close to the girl as he could.

“Potter!” A hand grabbed the sleeve of robe and Harry gasped and spun around, somehow expecting his uncle to be standing there. But it wasn’t Vernon or even Dudley, instead it was the blonde boy Harry had seen on the train before. What had his name been, Draco?

The boy huffed and let go of Harry to straighten his own robe, “I was trying to get your attention.” He shoved out his hand with a smirk, the same way Harry had seen his uncle do with business men, “Welcome to Slytherin.”

Slowly, Harry grasped his hand, “Th-thank you, Draco.”

Draco grinned and started walking, looking back when Harry didn’t follow. “Come on, Potter, you don’t want to get to the common room after Snape does, do you?”

. . . . .

Now with Draco at his side, Harry carefully worked his way through the crowd of other first years to be next to Gemma, just as the boy had told him to.

Behind him a girl gasped and another whispered, “I thought my mum was kidding!” Gemma looked up and laughed, “Yes, the staircases do actually move.” Then, quieter, “And you’ll tire of it quick enough.” Harry stumbled over himself as he looked up at the stairs (they really were moving!), trying hard to keep the brisk pace.

Fortunately, the steps in the dungeons stayed put as they made their way down at least three flights. Finally, Gemma stopped in front of a solid stone wall. She turned to face them all.

“This, little snakes, is a wall you will do well to remember: the entrance to our common room. It will reveal itself only to those who know the password, so make sure you remember that, too. This first week, the password is ‘Salazar’ in honor of our founder, of course.”

Just as she said the word, the bricks began to fold away, making an archway the same way the wall did behind the pub Hagrid took him to. Just as he had then, Harry watched in awe.

They followed Gemma in and found the room already had several others in it, older students reuniting after the summer’s holiday.

Once everyone had entered, the wall fitted itself back together like an automatic puzzle and Gemma faced them all.

“Right. This-” She gestured around the round room, “is our common room. We have few, but important, rules here. Firstly, only those in Slytherin house are allowed inside. Each house has their own common room, similarly concealed like our own is, and is forbidden to be entered by anyone from another house. That’s school rules.

“Aside from that, our Head of House- Professor Snape, who you’ll meet shortly -has implemented the rest. He prefers to explain most of those himself, though.”

She stopped to clear her throat and moved over to where a large board fit between two arching windows.

“As you can see, our common room is below the surface level of water which gives us this gorgeous view into the black lake. It’s pretty common that we see the giant squid swim past, on occasion merfolk pass by, not to mention the countless other creatures. Most of us find it soothing to sleep and study to. And don’t worry,” She knocked, hard, against the window, “the glass is just as protected as the rest of the castle; it’s charmed to never break or crack
.
“Just here,” She tapped a silver plaque attached to the stone, “are the complete list of House Rules. Each one you break will be met with a punishment personally handed out by Professor Snape.” As Gemma gave them all a stern look, Harry almost gave a sigh of relief; he knew how to follow rules, especially when they were all written out like that for him to study.

“This, here, is our notice board. It updates quite often so be sure to pay attention to it. You can always find the common room password here; make sure to check it often as it changes every Sunday night.” She tapped the slip of charmed emerald parchment, elegant silver letters spelling out Salazar. “The password is important, remember it. Otherwise you’ll find yourself with a cold bottom and a detention to serve.” Swallowing hard, Harry tried to burn the word into his mind, promising himself to always know the password.

“Other things go here too, as you can see: Quidditch schedules, which, no, first years can’t yet try-out for; tutoring and study groups; information on any clubs formed; the ranks from chess tournaments; and logs of any books you borrow from our library.

“Now,” She sighed as she faced the group of first years, all staring up at her with wide, attentive eyes. “I know the professor will touch on this but I’d like to as well.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors already, might’ve even told some yourself. Slytherin house has a dark cloud of myths surrounding it, but most of that isn’t true.”

Harry listened closely as she spoke, clingy onto every word.

“Yes, we have produced our share of dark wizards and many of us do find interest in the dark arts- but the other houses do, too. The difference is they don’t like admitting it, they’re ashamed of it. So don’t listen to the others when they say we’re ‘bad’, as we’re no worse than any of them. Truthfully, I’d say we’re better for that.” Her smile was so warm that it made Harry smile, too.

“You all heard McGonagall when she told you that your house is your family. Regardless of whether that’s true in the other houses, in Slytherin, it is.”

“Well spoken, Ms.Farley.”

Harry jumped at the new voice, turning sharply to find the source. He hadn’t even noticed anyone enter and, by the way Draco swore next to him, he doubted many others did either.

The man was tall and cloaked in dark black from his curtain of dark hair to the way his robe swirled around him. He moved like a shadow; silent and swift to the front of the room.

Harry didn’t know whether to feel fearful or protected to have the man in charge of his house.

“In this house, you will act like brothers to another because you are.” Professor Snape paused, making contact with each of the first years before speaking again. “In your classes and through the halls, the other students will not be your friends. They will fear you and will therefore dislike you. You will not treat each other with such distaste.”

Each word was said with a deep emphasis, a pause carefully placed between them in a way that locked your attention onto him.

“Within the walls of this room only are you to show any sense of disputation or distrust amongst each other. You need not give yourself or your fellow snakes any more trouble than you will unquestioningly face.” Harry shivered as the professor’s dark eyes met his own again. He would need to try especially to keep on this man’s good side, he gathered.

“As a family,” The professor continued, “you will assist another. There are scheduled study groups for whichever class you find you struggle in. Use them. Slytherins do not fail. We are a successful house. You will use your resources.

“There,” He lifted a long arm and pointed to a cabinet Harry had yet to notice. “You should find any necessities you may need. You are free to, and encouraged to, use the materials within. If there is something you cannot find inside, you may come to any of your prefects or myself for assistance.

“As a general rule, you will do well to stay out of trouble and not lose any house points. We have won the house cup the past six years, I intend to keep it that way.” There was a long pause of silence before he spoke again, this time with an air of exhaustion. “Do not ask the Baron where his bloodstains came from.”

He paused at the entrance and bid them ‘Goodnight’, his cloak giving a final, exaggerated billow as he left. Just as before, he didn’t make a sound.

Harry watched the door for another moment before turning back to face Gemma. She smiled at all of them, “He’s quite intimidating.” An older student still in the room snorted and she shot a silencing look at him. “He’s much kinder than he seems to us Slytherins. If there’s any member of staff that will take you at your word, it’s Snape. I promise.” Harry thought her eyes seemed to linger on him as she said that, but she was quick to finish were introduction.

“Anyway, it is getting late and you- we -all have big days tomorrow. I’ll lead you girls up and Damian Perriss will show you boys where to go.”

Harry watched the boy who had laughed a moment ago stand from the charcoal sofa, the leath crying softly as he did, and nodded toward an archway. “It’s down here, boys.”

Harry, Draco, and four other boys Harry didn’t know yet all followed down the spiral staircase, stopping at the third door down. “This room is yours; it will be for the next seven years, too, so do well to take care of it. All of your luggage should be inside already, and your robes should be embellished with the Slytherin emblem. If you have any issues, come and find me in that room.”


Damian gave them a final goodnight before going back up a few steps and going in the room he had indicted as his own.

“Do you think we pick our own beds?” The tallest of them wondered, a boy with dark skin and a tightly cropped haircut. Draco pushed open the door and entered swiftly. “No,” The boy answered himself, following Draco with long strides, “We do not.” Harry watched as he started loosening his tie, slipping it from his neck and placed it on the side table next to the bed labeled “Zabini, Blaise”.

Another boy, Theodore Nott, plucked the plaque off of his bed and shoved it in the pocket of his robe before opening his armoire and pulling out a set of flannel pajamas. “I don’t know about any of you,” He said, “But I’m going to shower and go to sleep.”

Harry wondered how he even knew where the shower was, but Theodore opened a thick door between his and Gregory Goyle’s beds and disappeared behind it. Gregory and Vincent Crabbe followed him, their own sleepwear in their arms.

“Are you planning on sleeping in the doorway, Potter?” Draco teased, smirking. He was busy hanging up his robe when Harry turned to face him, only then spotting the bed labeled as “Potter, Harry”.

It was a massive, four poster bed with two sets of curtains framing it. The first was a dark gray, the same as most of the furniture Harry noticed in the common room, and a sheer, silk emerald one draped over that. There were three pillows resting against the tall headboard and Harry didn’t think even Dudley had a warmer blanket than the heavy green one that laid flat over his bed.

His bed. There was no way this was really his; the label must have been wrong. But no- Harry turned to read the rest again, each of the five other beds already marked for another boy, bar Theodore. Harry took a tentative step toward the bed, sure that this was a trick, that it couldn’t stay going so well for this long.

But there it was. The suitcase he and Hagrid had gotten sat next to the bed pronounced as Harry’s, a dresser matching the rest next to the side table that was his.

The drawer to the table slid open easily and Harry found a small journal resting inside. With a glance to make sure Draco didn’t notice, Harry shoved his stolen roll inside and closed it quickly.

He reached up and opened the door of armoire, shocked to find that it wasn’t empty. Instead, the other sets of robes he had bought were each neatly hung up, next to them were striped Slytherin vests and crisp button downs. A clean pair of green pajamas hanging on the end, plaid pants and a snake on the shirt. Harry was quick to stand on his toes and pull them off the hangar- they even looked like they would fit him!

He shut the doors and dropped to his knees, pulling out the drawers one at a time.


The first two were filled. A stack of pants were folded on one half of the first drawer, on the other side a collection of white, gray, and green t-shirts. The next one down had underwear and matching socks, ones not littered with holes and two sizes too big. The last drawer was left empty, eager to be filled with things Harry had brought from home. He was quick to close that one, not wanting to think about how little things he even owned.

When he turned back around, he noticed everyone readying themselves for the days to come, decorating their small spaces: Blaise was setting a framed photo on his bedside table; Vincent and Gregory, now dressed in matching flannels, were setting away books and supplies; Draco was hanging up what looked like an incredibly expensive cloak next to the other robes he had put away.

Harry wished he had things to put up, but he hadn’t even thought about bringing the few things from his cupboard. He figured it probably wasn’t good to start his new life by lining his table with crooked army men or sleeping with the thin, ripped up blanket he used each night.

Taking a careful breath, Harry decided Theodore’s plan to shower was a good idea. He carried his (his!) pajamas and entered the bathroom.

Granite tiles covered the floor and walls, a plush green rug resting in front of the door. There were three stalled toilets, three sinks each with their own grand mirrors, and three shower areas, an emerald curtain blocking them off.

Harry rushed into the one closest to the wall, leaving the one between him and Theodore empty. He pulled the curtain close and took a breath, resting his glasses and clean pajamas on the stone bench inside. His. He smiled.

Making fast work of the clasp on his now Slytherin edged robe, Harry folded it and placed it next to the flannels. He didn’t have any idea how wizards did their washing and didn’t plan on doing it every night if he could help it. He could rewear his school clothes at least three times if he needed, he figured.

As he turned the shower on, Harry felt calm. The water was too hot, scalding his back and the still open cuts and lashes his uncle had given him; he didn’t care though, he felt clean. He hadn’t gotten a warm shower in- Harry couldn’t even remember. Years, it must’ve been. He got by on quick washes with the freezing water left after his aunt, uncle, and cousin had finished. Or, much more often than that, with a wet towel in the middle of the night.

There was no soap in the stall, Harry realized too late, but he didn’t mind much. He was used to less. He scrubbed his hands over his body until he felt raw and dipped his head down to rinse the grime out of his hair. He froze as he heard the door open, but he heard no footsteps and guessed Theodore must have left.

Quickly, not wanting to waste too much time, Harry shut off the water. He shook his head out, feeling like a dog in the rain, and wrapped the towel around himself. It was so soft, softer than any blanket he had ever touched.

Harry dried himself as best as he could, though his hair stayed damp, and hung the towel back up to dress. As he picked up the flannel shirt, he noticed something in the collar and squinted through the droplets on his glasses. It took a moment but eventually he made it out: Property of H. Potter.

His hands fumbled as he did up the buttons, an emotion he couldn’t label taking over.

After he hung his robes with the others and placed his shoes just under his bed, Harry crawled under the covers. Someone had turned the light out already so he stared at the ceiling, trying to make out the shapes in the brick. Tears pricked at his eyes and he blinked hard.

This was a good thing, he told himself even though he already knew it was. He had eaten, real food, too! More than just a stale peanut butter sandwich or the scraps of crisps left on Dudley’s plate. And was clean and dressed in pajamas with his name in the collar lying in a bed done up for him. Hogwarts would be good, he smiled. Hogwarts could be home.

For the first time Harry could remember,he slept easily to the sounds of at least two of his roommates snoring and the water lapping gently at the window.

Harry’s first week passed in a blur of classroom introductions and etiquettes. His wrist, still not quite healed, burned from the countless lists of rules he had written down. He had broken the nib on two out of the five quills he had bought too, not yet used to the delicacy of the new writing instrument.

Overall, though, he had enjoyed his first week at Hogwarts. After the first night they arrived Harry had worried he’d spend more time being lost in the massive castle than doing anything else but, fortunately, Draco had taken a liking to him for some reason.

The blonde boy was always making sure Harry was with him whether they were sitting together in the common room or paired up in their classes. In the halls Harry found himself perpetually three steps behind Draco, who took pleasure in telling him all he knew and showing off the secrets of the castle he finally got to explore outside of the stories he heard growing up.

It was a perfect match, really; Draco was able to easily impress and proudly spew out information to an eager-to-listen Harry, who got to learn all about this new world he was thrust into.

Harry had learned quickly that the other boy tended to talk a lot and over explain everything, but it was something he very much appreciated. Being a pureblood (which Draco was very vocal about) meant that he was raised entirely in the wizarding world, something incredibly helpful to the muggle-raised boy. He answered questions Harry didn’t even know he had yet and was eager to mentor Harry in the ‘proper Slytherin ways’.

But it wasn’t just the mentoring that Harry enjoyed. Much to his surprise, prefect Farley and Professor Snape were right when they had said Slytherin was not just a category of students, but a family.

While the older Slytherins were harsh and sarcastic and almost cruel to students of other houses, they acted completely different once inside the common room or when speaking in hushed tones in the Great Hall.

Taller students reached down books for appreciative shorter ones, tips for anything from wizard’s chess to how to do well in specific classes were passed out like candy at the parades Harry had watched on his cousin’s television set. When Tracey Davis dislocated her shoulder after tripping down the girls’ dorm stairs, it wasn’t only the prefects who rushed to help but at least five others that stood ready to be needed.

And, even more shocking to Harry, they treated him just the same.

He had been asked more times than he could count about ‘You-Know-Who’ and whispers of ‘show me your scar’ from not only first years, but what felt like everyone in the other three houses. Even some of the professors treated Harry differently, stumbling over his name at roll, their eyes full of awe.

But the Slytherins didn’t give him first pick at where he sat in class just because of something he didn’t even remember doing. They didn’t stare at him with wide eyes, pointing and talking too loud about him as he passed them in the halls.

Instead, that boy from the feast (Adrian Pucey, Harry learned) had taught him how to tie his shoelaces. The prefect, Damian, showed Harry, Draco, and Blaise the correct way to hold their wand when their levitation charms continued to fail. Marcus Flint spelled his inkwell back together after Harry had tried (and failed, drastically) to turn it into rum at Pansy Parkinson’s insistence.

It was a weird experience for Harry, the sibling-like bond between the snakes. He had spent so long watching families on the telly through the slots in his cupboard, dreaming for a mum or a dad or anyone to care for him. For someone to spend time with him willingly, to want to hug him and laugh with him instead of at him.

And while he knew that he had only just started his life as a wizard, had only just entered Hogwarts no more than a few days before, Harry was more than grateful to have been placed in Slytherin.

They were teaching him to play chess (and some of the pieces that swore, even!), and all about quidditch. They talked a lot about being respectable and well-mannered and all praised Harry on his level of respect (“Don’t let them fill your head; being arrogant gets you little in this world. Be humble and confident and practice your studies and then they’ll really worship you.”).

That was what Harry struggled with, they told him; the way he carried himself. His confidence. But Harry didn’t know how to be confident; how was he supposed to think of himself as anything more than the little, worthless, waste-of-space, freak he had been called his entire life?

But the Slytherins didn’t treat him like a freak. They didn’t make him do their cooking or cleaning because the house-elves did all that. They didn’t smack him around if he didn’t do their homework for them because they didn’t ask him to do their homework. Harry wondered if maybe he was settling into the Slytherins too fast, but he dismissed the thought with a smile. For the first time in a really long time, Harry realized, he was happy.
. . . . .
Harry had never much enjoyed school before. He was never particularly good at maths or science and although he did like reading, he was never allowed time to at the Dursleys’. Hogwarts, though, was not like a muggle primary school, Harry was pleased to realize.

Not only were there no games of Harry Hunting at recess, but the classes were even fun! Harry didn’t know if he would ever truly get used to being a wizard, to magic in general. It was just so amazing.

They had classes on tentacle-like plants in herbology and were learning to make feathers fly in charms! Even history of magic was kind of cool, since professor Binns was a ghost.

But potions was, by far, Harry’s favourite class.

He liked that the classroom was only a short walk from the common room; it meant that on Mondays and Thursdays, when he had potions first, he didn’t need to bring his books up to breakfast with him. Not to mention that the dungeons had long ago been deemed ‘Snake Territory’, and Harry hadn’t felt happier (or safer) than when he was with the Slytherins.

But the best part, and Harry smiled just thinking about it as he settled into his chair next to Draco, was that he was good at it. The art of potion making, as the professor had referred to it, used much of the skills Harry had already mastered, honed by years of cooking for his relatives. He already knew how to properly hold and use a knife and to control the heat and size of the flame below.

Really, the biggest thing Harry needed to learn to brew were the safety precautions. He’d never worn special gloves before when touching potentially dangerous ingredients, but maybe after his bacon incident, he should.

The thought of his uncle’s face, all big and purple, if Harry served dinner while wearing his dragon-hide gloves made him smile, but it quickly dropped from his face as he imagined how terrible his punishment would be for that.

The screech of the stool next to him pulled Harry out of his thoughts and he flinched as Theo’s books banged against the table.

“Alright, Teddy?” Blaise frowned, leaning over the table from where he sat at the edge. Theo, brows furrowed with frustration, was glaring at his own fisted hands. “Bloody Gryffindors. Think they can-”

The door slammed open, quickly quieting Theo and causing Harry to flinch. He frowned, angry with himself for jumping even after he had expected the dramatic entrance.
Professor Snape flicked his wand at the chalkboard and their directions appeared in a cloud of chalkdust. He made his way to the front of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the class.

“Well? Why aren’t you starting yet?”
. . . . .

It made sense that transfiguration was the last class of the day. If potions class was Harry’s favourite, then transfiguration was definitely at the other end of his list. The class itself was alright, really, and Harry thought that under different circumstances it might have been much higher up on that list considering how much he enjoyed studying it in the commons.

The problem came from the Gryffindors.

Transfiguration was one of the fortunately few classes the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors shared, but Harry wondered if that made it worse; it gave them all the rest of their classes to build up nasty comments and insults to throw at each other. He really didn’t understand the animosity between their houses; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seemed to get along just fine together.

Laughing as they passed him down the hall, Harry noticed a group of girls that was a mix of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and frowned. It really was just Slytherin that they all hated, wasn’t it.

Even most of the professors didn’t seem like Slytherin, always quick to take points or pass over their raised hands in class. Professor McGonagall, though, seemed to have a particular distaste for the Slytherins, especially Harry himself.

Nearly as often as he heard people whispering about him in awe, Harry was insulted; mutterings of how there was no way a slimy, lying, Slytherin could be the chosen one. They said he would go dark; join You-Know-Who, and, rather than saving the wizarding world, be the one who destroyed it.

While McGonagall had never said any of those things to Harry, he didn’t think it would be a far stretch to assume she thought the same.

Like Professor Snape, the transfiguration professor wore a stern look on her face, her lips drawn tightly together and an intense stare in her eyes that when looking at Harry flitted between disgust, pity, and worry.

And she always seemed to be watching Harry. Even then, as he entered the class, her gaze was glued to him. He swallowed his discomfort with a grimace and took his seat, only to frown again at the match stick in front of him. Unlike with potions, Harry struggled to do even simple things in this class; like turn his matchstick into a needle.

A few more students stumbled into class before McGonagall began her review-lecture on the Transfiguration Formula. Once she was done, she demonstrated the spell they were to practice, much to the delight of Draco; unlike Harry, Draco was quite skilled with transfiguration.

It had only taken Draco a few tries before he grinned, showing his new needle off proudly to the Slytherins around him, “You owe me a galleon, Parkinson.” Pansy sneered in response, digging out a gold coin and tossing it over begrudgingly. Draco caught it with a smirk, pocketing it before the professor could see.

Harry tried harder to imagine a needle, checking over his notes before casting the spell again, but his matchstick only shimmered. In front of him, he watched as Blaise pretended his newly formed needle were a javelin, pricking Theo in the arm and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as Theo defended himself with his match and a toothy grin.

“Mr.Potter.”

Harry jumped, eyes flying up to the professor who was suddenly only a few feet before him. “Y-Yes, professor?”

She frowned deeper, “I need to speak with you after class.”

Blaise and Theo turned to him with matching looks of confusion and worry while next to him Draco looked angry, muttering about unfit and biased professors. Harry, meanwhile, was numb with fear.

At the bottom of the silver plaque in the common room, under all the rules, was something Harry had remembered with ease: All of your actions have consequences. It was a statement he had always known, really, a fact ingrained in him by the Dursleys.

With his relatives, as much as he hated it there, Harry at least knew what to expect: if he ruined Dudley’s dinner then he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to eat for a week, when he didn’t complete his chores correctly he knew that he would get a beating. But at Hogwarts, in a world of magic, Harry didn’t know what his punishment would be.

The rest of the hour passed slower than the sleepless nights in his cupboard. Draco, finally having finished complaining, had begun tutoring Harry in transforming his match; with his mind so focused on what was to come, though, he hardly managed to turn it silver.

It was only when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat that Harry realised everyone had left. Well, mostly everyone, that was. Blaise and Theo stood just behind their chairs while Draco hadn’t yet moved from his seat. A long, tension filled moment passed before the professor spoke again, her voice firm. “You needn’t wait for Mr.Potter; this won’t take long, boys. This is a personalI matter and I will take points for any disobedience.”

Harry’s whole being was tense as he watched the silent exchange between Blaise and Theo and after a moment they left, but not before promising to wait just outside. Draco followed another scalding look later, sneering as he did.

McGonagall shut the door with a flick of her wand and sighed as Harry flinched, already on edge. Fears of expulsion filled his mind and Harry sucked his lip between his teeth. Would they really send him away for just laughing during class? No, he decided, Dudley did that all the time and he still got to stay. But they might if he wasn’t showing enough magic, the voice in his head suggested, he was the ‘chosen one’ after all, and he couldn’t even turn his match into a-

“Mr.Potter, did you hear me?”

Harry frowned as he flinched again (he really needed to stop doing that) but nodded; he had more than enough experience to know it was better to work out what he’d missed than to admit to not listening. “Yes, ma’am.”

McGonagall smiled, a gesture that didn’t comfort him nearly as much as she had hoped. “Then I’ll see you in the headmaster’s office at seven o’clock, Mr.Potter.”
. . . . .
McGonagall led him out of the classroom and if Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have said she rolled her eyes at the sight of his friends waiting there expectantly.

“What did the cat want, Harry?” Draco asked once they’d left the corridor. Harry shook his head and shrugged, trying not to look as worried as he felt. “I dunno.” He admitted, “She said I have to go meet the headmaster after dinner.”

“What for?” Harry shrugged again, wishing he knew. He was just about to reply when he heard someone snickering and shot his head up to see a trio Gryffindor boys coming towards them.

“Oh look boys, it’s little Nott again. You gonna start crying again, Nott-y?”

Theo sneered at the blonde boy, his hands clenched around the strap of his bag and continued walking. Eager to avoid any conflict, Harry followed with quick steps of his own. The blonde boy let out a cruel laugh again before shoving Theo to the ground. “C’mon Nott! Why don’t you show off some of those dark spells your daddy taught you!”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and jumped out of the way as the boy took a step closer, his friends laughing around him.

Draco acted fast. “Petrificus Totalus!” He shouted from behind and sneered as the boy fell to the stone like a statue; his friends quick to turn their wands on Slytherins. Blaise helped Theo to his feet, both pointing their own wands as other students formed a crowd around them all.

Harry yelped as the tall boy screamed “Incendio!”, a burst of flame shooting out of his wand that just missed Blaise’s ear.

Theo cried out ‘protego’ seconds too late and Harry stumbled back, horrified, his knees giving out as a second flame latched onto Theo’s robe; someone in the crowd screamed.

Blaise swore loudly and tried to stop the fire, but not before causing the culprit to fall from a leg-locking curse. Like uncle Vernon, the tall boy’s face went purple; he pointed his wand sharply and yelled “Rictusumpra!” just as Draco called out “Serpensortia!”

Draco collapsed but the snake he conjured landed in front of the other boy with a thud. It started moving closer towards him, its head lifting from the ground and bearing its fangs with a low hiss and-

It flew back, a stunning curse flinging it into a wall. The boy Draco had petrified was starting to stand and Harry, fueled by desperation, lept to his feet and screamed, “NO! Attack him!”

The snake looked at Harry and almost seemed to nod before racing to the boy and wrapping around his ankles, its fangs digging deep into his skin as he cried.

Everyone was looking at Harry then: his friends with amazement, the Gryffindors with fear, the students crowding either end of the hall were muttering things Harry couldn’t hear. The blonde boy looked like he had been put in another body-bind curse, frozen in shock.

With a jolt of adrenaline, Harry punched him. Hard. Hard enough that the boy stumbled back and Harry thought he heard his nose crack. Unable to believe he had actually just done that, Harry walked over to Draco in a daze and helped him to stand.

“Harry-” Draco started only to be cut off by a careful cough; Professor Snape appeared next to them, an anxious Gryffindor girl behind him. Quietly, he said something that made the snake dissolve into nothing. “Are you all planning on starving tonight? Go, all of you; except you four.” He looked pointedly at Harry, Draco, Blaise, and Theo. “Granger, escort the three of them to Infirmary.”

“Yes, Sir.” The girl squeaked, tripping over herself to follow the Gryffindor boys.

All of the pride Harry had felt in standing up for his friends vanished like the snake just had as he watched the corridor drain, Ron’s disgusted gaze catching his own. He gulped and dropped his head to the stone, feeling Snape’s intense stare even without seeing it.

“Come with me.”

. . . . .

The walk to Snape’s office felt longer than Harry knew it was and he all but collapsed when the professor directed them to sit, suddenly exhausted.

“What,” He started, voice low but commanding as always, “happened?” A long moment passed before anyone spoke and he rose and eyebrow, picking them each apart with his eyes.

“It was Flack, sir.” Theo sighed, wincing as his singed shoulder hit the chair. “And what, pray tell, did Mr.Flack do to earn himself and two fellow second year Gryffindors each a bed in the hospital wing, Mr.Nott?”

Theo made a face that Harry thought looked a lot like forcing back tears and spoke quietly.

“He’s been saying things about my mum, sir. And my father, too. Saying that it’s his fault she’s-” He sniffed. “His father works in the same department as mine does, sir, and they aren’t exactly friendly. It’s gotten out quite a bit there that my mum is- He’s been saying my father caused the sickness. That he cursed her or poisoned her or-” There was a pause as Theo let out a shaky sigh before continuing, his voice a whisper. “He’s said she deserves it and-”

Theo shook his head, his curls falling to hide the tears Harry was only just able to notice. By the tired sigh he released, Harry figured the professor must’ve seen, too.

Snape nodded solemnly. “While I do not condone violence, I understand the strong emotions that loved ones envoke. I do, however, expect this to not happen again in your time here. Do you understand?” He leveled his eyes with each of theirs and even Draco swallowed his trepidation as he nodded.

“And now,” Snape began, his voice impossibly more intense, “it’s Mr.Potter’s turn to explain. Did you not think it important to reveal your abilities?”

Harry had thought he was on edge before but the question turned him cold with fear. Special abilities? He didn’t know he had any special abilities; besides from the newly found being a wizard and all, that is. What was he supposed to have had told?

“How long have you known you are a parseltongue, Potter?”

“A what, sir?” Harry blurted. He snapped his jaw shut quickly; he shouldn’t have said that. He wasn’t supposed to ask questions. He wasn’t supposed to talk back. He-

“It means you can speak with snakes, Harry.” Blaise informed in a soft voice. “You didn’t know?”

Harry’s brows furrowed over his eyes. Was that a rare thing? He shook his head. “Can’t- Can’t everyone do that?” He asked. “I just, I mean I’ve only ever done it once b’fore, at the zoo on Dudley’s birthday. And then- I, well, it’s always in the stories at school. Or on the telly. Like Snow White and stuff? They can all talk with animals.” Harry’s voice trailed off as he saw the amused look he had come to recognize on his friends’ faces; it was the one they always got when he didn’t know something the rest of the wizard kids did.

“It is not a common trait, Harry, even amongst the wizarding world. Most, even, would consider it to be quite a dark talent. One that they will not take care in finding you possesses, I’d suspect.” Harry couldn’t decide if Snape looked amused himself or concerned as he spoke.

The professor ran a tired hand over before standing sharply, chair screeching against the stone flooring.

“If you would like, Theodore, I do believe Madam Pompfrey will have finished with Flack by this time and would be more than capable of sorting out that burn of yours now. I’ll send a house elf to deliver you three dinner shortly, as I am sure you’re regretful of missing it. Mr.Potter and I, however, have a meeting with the headmaster we must attend.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful.” He added, voice dripping with sarcasm.
. . . . .
Even after being witness to so many incredibly astounding things in the time he had entered the magical world, stepping into a roaring fireplace had not been something Harry had expected. But he had little time to revel about the floo as he found himself face-to-face with the headmaster.

His eyes sparkled down through the gold wired glasses and his voice too cheery, “Harry! Ever so good to see you. Would you care for a lemon drop?”

“He would not, thank you, Albus.” Harry startled as professor Snape, suddenly behind him, responded. “If we could hurry this up, I do have grading to do.”

Dumbledore smiled and laid a hand on Harry’s arm, guiding him to sit in a golden armed chair. “Of course, Severus, of course. We are simply waiting for our dear Minerva to arrive.” Harry tensed, stiff in the overly soft, star-spangled cushion; somehow, he didn't think that smile meant good things.

The headmaster sat in the all-but-throne behind his desk and popped a yellow sweet in his mouth joyfully. Snape hardly had time to grimace before the door swung open revealing the transfiguration professor.

“A-ha! Minerva, my dear, so glad you could make it.”

Harry took a breath to try to ease his nerves but it didn’t do much other than announce his unease. Truthfully, the act had never done much to stop his fearful tremors but he always hoped it would, regardless of the countless failed attempts.

McGonagal nodded and took her seat in the open chair next to Harry, her mouth in a tight line. “I more than ever now believe this is the right course of action, Albus.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Yes, yes, I agree.”

“As much as I do so enjoy your musings, Headmaster, it would be ever so appreciated if Potter and I were let in on your thoughts, no?”

Dumbledore hummed and nodded, “Yes, Severus, of course.” He stood from his chair and began to pace behind the desk, fuelling Harry’s anxiety.

“You see, my boys, the sorting of our young Harry here was not an expected result at all, as I’m sure you know. And it has been the talk of the town, so to speak, since it happened. I’m sure you can only imagine the amount of unease to our community it has been since; the savior being in Slytherin: the house of the evil.

“Being as such,” The headmaster continued, his eyes gleaming, “Minerva and I have deemed it best for Harry to be moved to Gryffindor.”

Harry had listened carefully when prefect Farley had talked about the hate that surrounded the Slytherin house. He had seen with his own eyes how being sorted had rapidly ruined the friendship he had found in Ronald Weasley so easily. And it wasn’t exactly a secret that even many of the professors themselves expressed favouritism to the other three houses.

Maybe it was him being naive, but Harry had thought that it didn’t matter. Not really, at least. He had put up with bullying from teachers and students alike in his old primary school and dealing with it here, too, wouldn’t be hard for him. Especially not once he formed friends with Draco and Blaise and Theo. Not when he had found something akin to family in Slytherin.

For a moment his mind went numb; moved to Gryffindor? He’d never survive! Harry didn't realize his ears had begun to ring until the low snarl of professor Snape behind him silenced it.

“You plan to what, exactly?” His voice was almost a growl, Harry thought with a shiver. But it was so different from what he had ever heard before. He wasn’t scared of the menacing tone but felt a wave of admiration; protection.

“It has never been done before, that is true, but we believe that it is in Harry’s best interest to-”

“His best interest?” Snape’s voice had lowered to a whisper but it was enough even to widen the headmaster’s eyes, if only for a second. “Or yours?

“Because I would, wager, that perhaps the boy would be safer in his own house, Albus. Especially after he not only injured a second year Gryffindor boy but also revealed he is a parseltongue to half the school.”

Harry heard McGonagall gasp beside him and looked just in time to see her hand covering her mouth in an almost comical reaction.

There was a mere moment of silence that passed and Harry looked to his professor nervously before glancing through his fringe at the headmaster again.

The old mad sighed, long and sorrowful, before sitting once again. He removed his glasses carefully and placed them, folded, ontop the desk.

“It is already decided, Severus. Harry may stay in the dungeons tonight, if he so wishes, but by breakfast he and his belongings will be transferred to Gryffindor tower.”

Severus had been dreading September 1st, 1991 since he first began teaching.

There would be no question of whether the Potter spawn would show magical prowess and Severus knew that the day the brat arrived would start a largely exhausting seven years. And Severus, as he often was, turned out to be mostly correct; wrong only in the ways the boy proved to be so very tiring. Because depriving Severus of sleep was something Harry did well.

Though he was loath to admit it even to himself, Severus had long before decided the Potter boy would show up on his first day a rambunctious, pretentious, arrogant, brat; the new poster boy of Gryffindor, just like his father before him had been.

His envisionment of the boy was so strong that when the first years swarmed into the great hall that night, Severus had hardly noticed the boy was there. Shockingly to them all, Potter wasn't the overindulged, proud savior-to-be the world had come to expect but instead a sickly-thin,
jumpy, timid little boy.

It almost sickened Severus to think back to how very much they all expected of Potter, a mere child. How much he had expected of the boy.

And if the anticipation of the boy’s arrival was tangible then Severus didn’t know how to describe the intensity that awaited Potter’s sorting.
He hadn’t been alone in assuming the boy would be donning red and gold robes; earlier that evening, even, Severus had overheard the other heads gossiping about Potter as they gathered in the great hall.

“Oh but he’ll be a lion, Minerva, I’m sure of it. Though perhaps a ‘puff -Our Dear Lily was such a kind young woman. But James- Ha!”

Suffice to say he had not been alone in his preconception of Potter. No one had been shocked when Harry Potter- boy-who-lived, savior of the wizarding world - was sorted into Slytherin house more than Severus Snape.

By the end of that first night, everything Severus had thought to be true about Potter was obliterated. He watched the boy as he stumbled over the yellowed laces of his too large trainers, studied the way he flinched at every sudden noise or movement, how his eyes never met his fellow students’ and as Farley and Pucey had to all but force him to eat something.

It was not unusual for Severus to spot signs of abuse in his first years, aided not only by his own childhood but by the rate in which those who experienced similar were placed with him (or Pomona). And while that was, of course, an issue to be dealt with, the problem with Potter was far more pressing.

Severus was the first to defend his snakes, but he wasn’t naive to the fact that many of them had grown up in pureblood-centric homes; that some of them had parents that had only just managed to escape imprisonment following the first war. And, regardless, the entirety of the wizarding world had its eyes glued on the boy. It wouldn’t be long before Potter’s predicament left the safety of the castle’s walls: ‘Saviour in Slytherin: Can He Save Us?’

While it hadn’t shocked him to find his godson cementing a friendship with Potter, Severus couldn’t deny it pleased him. He knew it wouldn’t help the headlines (‘Boy-Who-Lived Friends With the Heir of Malfoy’). But he also knew that Draco had a sincere kindness hidden under his mask of pureblood etiquette.

The first week of school was always a long one; riddled with homesick first years, fourth years with forgotten summer homework, seventh years that seemed to think they were already finished with schooling. Still, between marking essays and assigning chapters, Severus made sure to find time to study Potter, watching closely to the ways the boy seemed to thrive in Slytherin.

Along with Draco, his friendship with Zabini and Nott had grown strong even in the short period of time. Severus was pleased to see that by the start of the second week Potter was eating with only little prompting and began to finish most of his plate (that of which was still prepared by Farley, with Severus’ encouragement), so much so that he was reconsidering whether to give the boy a nutrition supplement.

The professors had all been expecting the boy to come with little more knowledge than what a muggleborn possessed, so Severus was not alone in his astonishment when Potter showed a rapid improvement in his studies. Though while the others gossiped in the staff room, Severus knew it to be a result of attending Slytherin administered study meets and the teachings of his friends.

Other than needing to tend to the boy’s probable injuries and the obvious situation with his relatives, the distress Severus had had about Potter that first night was quickly dwindling.

Until, of course, that second Thursday.

No one, bar maybe the boy himself, had been more enraged when Harry Potter was taken out of the dungeons and placed high in Gryffindor tower than Severus Snape. Which meant that it would be up to one Severus Snape to bring his snake back to where he belonged, Dumbledore's plan be damned.

Over the course of the following week, Severus watched as not only all of the progress Potter had made diminished, but as he regressed further. His dinner sat uneaten, his hands tremored in class, he stopped answering questions.

Severus summoned a decanter of firewhiskey and swiftly swallowed a glassful. He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes in a feeble attempt to soothe his aching head and looked to the letter sitting on his desk with a sigh.

“A long year, indeed.”

. . . . .

Draco wasn’t dumb. He was many things (proud, handsome, sarcastic, witty, kind (to those he liked), loyal (to those who deserved it)) but being stupid wasn’t one of them.

He, like any other honourable wizard, knew who Harry Potter was before he met him, and he knew that attending school with The Boy Who Lived would be something meritable years down the line.

But a future praise wasn’t why Draco had wanted to befriend Harry- or, well, it wasn’t the only reason he had, at least.

Draco had already met many of the Slytherin first years in brief play-dates when they were younger; their parents all working to upkeep the aquintices among other puebloods. So he already knew that Vincent and Greg weren’t the type he wanted to spend his Hogwarts years with.

It wasn’t his plan all along, to be friends with Harry Potter, especially not when he had thought him to be a future Gryffindor. But once Harry was sorted into Slytherin, Draco knew.

There was something he really liked about Harry; about the way he seemed to soak up information like Draco’s socks had before his mum had charmed them dry. He liked how Harry’s whole everything got excited when he did a spell right or when he helped Theo perfect a potion.

And Harry was nice, too!

Draco knew that he, too, could be nicer to others sometimes. He knew that his rudeness toward Hufflepuffs wasn’t something that would attract many friends, but the thought of him being friends with a Gryffindor sent a shiver down his spine.

But Harry was always nice to him, even when other Slytherins weren’t. Harry didn’t mind hearing Draco rattle on about the creatures that lived in the black lake or how he had gotten a broom for his ninth birthday and the peacocks that waddled around the front gates of his manor.

And, even though Draco always heard the professors muttering otherwise, Harry was so very Slytherin. Like a true snake, Harry didn’t make up a lie when professor Flitwik had asked if he and Blaise had been joking during class but instead smartly omitted the truth. He was resourceful, too, and made sure to attend all of the study meets he needed to keep his grades up.

That and he was smart. Draco didn’t know why Harry never believed them; Blaise and Theo, too, of course, always told Harry he did really good in herbology and charms but Harry refused to agree even when older students did. Secretly, Draco thought that his humbleness was more a Hufflepuff trait than a Slytherin one, but he appreciated that it kept Harry from acting like an arrogant Gryffindor.

Because no matter what Dumbledore said, Harry wasn’t a Gryffindor. He didn’t belong there; he belonged back in the dungeons, in his bed right next Blaise and Draco’s own.

Harry hadn’t been able to tell them what had happened that night. Draco, Theo, and Blaise had ignored the prefects’ calls of curfew, keeping themselves awake in the common room until Harry returned. It wasn’t until late that he did, shaking and holding a vial of calming draught.

Draco had known something bad had happened, not that any of them expected less, and jumped to his feet. “What happened?”

Harry stood in the entryway for a few minutes, trying and failing to say anything before shaking his head. It took a few more moments and a prompting “Harry?” from Theo before he could answer them in a weak voice.

Draco didn’t think any of them slept that night.

The next morning, there was a message demanding they all wait in the commons before heading to breakfast and, at seven sharp, Snape arrived.


His presence alone commanded silence but it didn’t carry the air of a problem solved that Draco had hoped and he noticed as Harry tensed next to him.

“Last night,” He started carefully, “after a careful deliberation between the Headmaster and professor McGonagall, it was decided that Mr.Potter be transferred to Gryffindor House.” The room exploded into a dispute that made Draco smile; it would be much easier to keep Harry if everyone was in agreement.

Snape raised a hand and a quiet fell over the room again.

“I am bringing this to your attention this morning because, as all of you do, I do not believe this to be the correct choice. If it were up to me, Potter would be staying put. As it is, I have very little power in this matter, and while I will be looking into reversing this act, for now, Potter will be staying in Gryffindor.

“However,” He paused to look over each of the Slytherins just as he had the first night, “I expect you all to treat Mr.Potter the same as you have over the past week.”

“Professor,” In that moment, Draco thought his Uncle Sev was going to give Pucey detention for a month for interrupting him, but instead he watched as his anger fled as quickly as it had formed once Pucey spoke.

“We all know Harry’s a Slytherin, why would any of us treat him any differently?”